


Since your heart is in the right place, and your scales had fallen... We can continue (let's hope your soul persists)!

by Lynx_the_Defier



Category: Naruto, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Altogether Obito feelings, And our lowkey sunshine, And somewhat of a character study?, Confusion, Depression, Disassociation, Hoping to put some spin on it, I don't know how well it will go, I'll add more tags later on, I'll kick this dead horse, I'm trying, If there's something more hardcore I'll put it up on the go, It's hard, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, Obito is a troll, Obito is my angsty child, PTSD, Past Abuse, Prepare for trash writing tho, RIP Cannon, Redemption, Reincarnation, Screw cannon, Should Obito be foregiven?, Still, This scenarion had been done so many times..., Trigger Warning for all chapters, We'll remember you, also, if this fic continues, just in case, no beta we die like men, with a dark sense of humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx_the_Defier/pseuds/Lynx_the_Defier
Summary: Obito realises a crucial fact about himself; he's not four years old. He's 35 and, although he once was four, he certainly shouldn't be now.Because he died. At 35. At the hands of a mad Goddess, who wanted to kill her grandsons. Who wanted the complete opposite of world peace.But, he is. His body is small and his muscles weak. Bones stretchable in young age yet brittle all the same, weary with a lifetime of crimes. There's emptiness inside him, where something irreplaceable had been - now, it's gone, not there, as if the years of pain and practice were insignificant. As if the gift he had nurtured so, had been deemed too precious for him to possess.Loss fills his every step, weightless, helpless, righteous. A beast that had been stripped of its claws. It's thick fur, fangs, blood-red eyes... All non-existent.Left to live, even though it's as good as a death sentence. Left to lick it's wounds and try to crawl to the top, when fate itself had deemed it useless. Left to die.OR:Obito reincarnates in BNHA, and as every shinobi of his calibre would do, promptly has a mental break-down. It lasts and it lasts, but then... It gets better.
Comments: 64
Kudos: 233





	1. Remember the dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attack, some blood (minimal).

He stares at his hands in incomprehension. They're small. So petite, in fact, that he could have broken them bloody without even using chakra. The fingernails are short, embedded into the skin tightly; if he wanted, he could have pulled them out with tweezers. His skin has a healthy pink tinge, not marred by scars or callouses - not stretched taunt in tension, or hunger. Not pinned around bones that had been fractured time and time again, around joints that had been dislocated by more than one person. They're not his hands.

They tremble.

It goes up to his arms, further, into his spine and straight to his head. Or maybe the other way around? From his brain, down his back and into his limbs, which now shake like a new born lamb's? Jaw clenching, Obito continues to stare. Sounds buzz in his ears, loud, inane; ripped by the steadily accelerating beats of his heart, which...

Should not beat.

It's logical. He had died! Dead people don't have heartbeats! He'd know, having spend quite a time dead. In the afterlife, with Rin, Minato-sensei, Kushina-neechan - and none of them had heartbeats. They were warm though; not only in body but also in actions, guiding him to understanding. Even though he'd been terrible, had killed and maimed and manipulated, and known that he did not deserve any affection. They were there. Dead. With him -

They're not here.

His gaze clicks up, frantic. Head snapping left, right - he doesn't see any of them. Instead, a scatter of children, a room not dissimilar to a classroom: the walls are a placid mint colour, plastered with drawings and posters, stickers and boards. Lined with shelves filled by toys, a richness so amiss in a life of a poor kid like him. Uchiha may be posh, but when he was the age of the kids here, he lived in an empty house where 'toys' were old kunai, kitchenware and the wildlife he had brought from outside. When his elder neighbour had sawed him a rag-doll he'd cried. From then on, with every grocery-run he did for her, he would pick her a 'bouquet' of flowers; they were weeds, pretty but useless.

Like him.

All the same, her face lit up every time - she would put them in a glass of water and place at the centre of the dining table. With seasons, when his bouquets changed (from flowers to red leaves, to dry, bare branches), she'd always, without fail do them justice. Though, in winter, she would use the branches to keep up the fire. She kept it a secret from him in fear he would be angry that she burned his gifts. He wasn't.

Blinking rapidly, Obito tried to chase away tears. It didn't work - the water-works persisted, dripping down his chin onto the cotton blouse. They burned his face and eyes, set salt in his mouth and thickness in his throat. Sight blurry, there was a distinct redness about his tears that betrayed them for something more; a feeble warning before his head flared with pain. Pins pricked at his brain, at the eyes that were his and yet not. That screamed agony seconds later.

A low whine escaped his mouth. Obito shushed it clumsily, throat clogged, uncooperative. Shudders thundered past his frame, rocking his feet off balance; he took a few unconscious steps before collapsing. The thud fled his notice equally quickly as the pain echoing in his knees, so insignificant compared to the splitting ache above. It ripped his skull apart like one tore through cooked meat - easily, slowly, piece by agonising piece.

Between erratic blinks, Obito saw red. Everything was clear and yet muddled, blazing bloodily. His breathing matched the unevenness, allowing air to tear at his lungs one minute, only to deny it a gasp later. Shivering, he kneeled - all strength was drained from his body as he leaned forewords, forehead on the ground. His hands shakily went up to cover his neck, an instinct so primal it defied any panic. Nails dug into his scalp with soldering sharpness (those pesky little things. Who would have thought they'd cause so much pain?), wanting to dig, wanting to scratch, to open his insides and _take the agony out._

The oxygen became scarce. Blackness dotted his vision like maggots, heart drumming in his chest with force unexpected of such a small organ. Like an entity of it's own, it shouted fear to his instincts, spurring on a wheel of confusion. This melody of war deafening his ears, Obito no longer stopped the screams clawing at his lips. Haltingly, they made their way outside, so shrill and unexpected that everyone in the vicinity stilled. The moment didn't last very long though, soon morphing into a cacophony of shouts and fright.

But to the Uchiha the chaos went unnoticed, too far away to seem real. Too detached from him to strike true in his training. The only thing existing right now, was the trampling pain in his temples and the beating of his heart.

He did not see one of the supervisors approaching, crouching beside him and trying to catch his attention. He didn't see her horrified expression as she glimpsed the blood smeared on the floor, the puddle slowly growing around his head. Nor how her hands began to reach for him, only halted when his hair began to change.

His short black locks turned white, in a wave of invisible energy - the skin she could see from beneath his gripping fingers also paling, greying like burnt out embers. She gasped, and quickly took out a phone.

He would never know this, but the women had never dialled any number as quickly as this one, in that exact minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and comment! Tell me if I should put up TW, because this chapter was like, a description of a panic attack? And there was some blood, too. But it wasn't that drastic, at least not for me? So, tell me readers.  
> Edit: Already put it up, though I still appreciate some advice.
> 
> Have I succeeded in giving you a glimpse of Obito?


	2. To explain life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of rumbling, internal monologue and exposition. Yay. I don't think it warrants a TW but, just in case - there's some blood, allusion and mention of suicide and Obito being insensitive about mental health issues (mainly his own). If you see more, give me a shout out.

One thing must be stated:

He had reincarnated.

The thought sounded bizarre, even in the confines of his head. Like a mid-wife's tale, so unbelievable you're willing to believe it, if only because there's no other explanation. And, there isn't. This wasn't a genjutsu; everything was too perfect, too foreign to come from his brain alone. He had contemplated the option extensively, from the possibility of Tsukuyomi to the question of who else, alive, could put such a strong illusion on a full-blooded Uchiha like him. No one, that's who. Besides, the fact that he could question if this was a genjutsu was a powerful clue in itself.

And, Obito remembers things - things that make little sense and yet explain everything. Bits and pieces from the afterlife (flashes of Rin, her smile and cheer, of Minato, who's mother-hen tendencies took over any left-over spite the men felt for Obito, of his wife, fierce and unyielding), locked into his memory like the distant images of that one summer when he was six. Small and sweet, recalled with strain, uncertainty. And yet real.

Much closer to his heart than the memories that trickled from a day ago, two days ago, a year; those, although decorated with clarity unbecoming of their ordinary nature, are much less _his_. They are from this body, from the person, the boy, who had resided here before Obito appeared. Though... The Uchiha cringes, thinking about it - that 'boy' had been him. A young Obito, surreal in his belief that everything was right as it was. Now, he scoffs at the naivety. At the child that had known things for a fact when they weren't. Who had believed truths that were mere lies here; that he'll go to the academy because he's Uchiha, that Ninja protect their village, fight for it, that his parents are dead and gone and that he's safer at his neighbour's than at home.

That he has a friend ( _enemy, comrade, rival, peer_ ) named Kakashi, who's never late and always scowls when he sees him.

There are memories in his brain, memories of his mother trying to ignore his oddities. A clear day outside, his hand in hers as he skips excitedly next to her - they were heading to the convenience store, he thinks. He talks about his day at the kindergarten, bubbles away with words hard to understand until - 

( _"Tomorrow, I'll be on time! Kakashi will have to acknowledge that I'm not an idiot! That bastard!" he almost misses it, but from the corner of his eyes he sees his mother tense. She blinks at his words confusedly, and he also stills, **because that meant that she'll attack -** _

_"Honey, you were never late," she says, looking into his eyes. **She's in a perfect condition to put her under a genju -** "And where had you heard those words? 'Bastard'? They're very rude, and your mother doesn't want to hear them. Do you understand?"_

_After a moment of blankness, he beams up at her. "Yeah!"_

**_Somewhere deep, he realises that the words are mean; he doesn't care. He had said things much worse, done much wo -_ **

_"Good. Now, tell me about this Kakashi. Why did you call him that?" she begins after a second, tugging him to walk with her again.  
_

_"Oh, oh! He's a total show-off, snob and a know-it-all!" he chatters, childish spite colouring his voice. The thoughts of attack completely forgotten. "He always says that I'm wrong, no matter what I do! And - and! Sensei spends more time with him then us! And that spoil-sport never appreciates it!"_

_"Sensei...?" he hears his mother mutter, but he knows it's not directed at him, because the words were too quiet. He shouldn't have heard them - "Us? Does this Sensei ignore your whole class?"_

_"Me and Rin, obviously!" he scowls at the thought. Rin never says anything, but he knows it bothers her - he wants to complain, so much, **but then he sees that she does get the attention, that Kakashi's not there -** _

_"Oh, is that your friend?" the women smiles at him, indulgently. Her steps had slowed down considerably as they went, maybe because she saw how invested he was in talking and lacked the breath to keep up the pace, **maybe because she wanted -**  
_

_"Duh! She's sweet and nice, and bandages my scrapes when I get them! She's going to be a full-time med-nin after the war ends!"  
_

_..._

_Upon the next day, when his mother dropped him off at the kindergarten, after making sure he was already busy building castles from wooden blocks painted neon, she took the effort to ask one of the female supervisors about the trouble-causing Kakashi, if he really was taking all their time -_

_Only to discover that there was no child named Kakashi in their care. There never was._

_He saw the exchange from the sidelines, read their lips not realising he shouldn't be able to and shrugged._

_They must have forgotten. Kakashi, after all, had already left the academy._ )

Disgust curdles in his throat at the thought of how blind he was. How oblivious, stupid. Because, there were much more of such moments. Where his instincts spoke for him, where the experiences imprinted onto his soul took over, where his brain did not connect the dots and just carried on. As if... Everything. Was. Normal.

It wasn't.

His mother saw it, her partners saw it (however shortly they were in contact with him, they knew he wasn't... Like other children), the ladies at the kindergarten saw it. Some even suggested taking him to a doctor, to check; his mother always insisted it's probably a part of his quirk. That it's the wild imagination of a child, who doesn't know any better spewing nonsense to entertain themselves. That it surely isn't anything to be worried over.

It wasn't.

It was.

He doesn't know.

It's certainly lucky that she didn't take him to a doctor, he would've been screwed. It's bad enough now, add a shrink to it and he would have already bolted. Besides, technically, he was not ill - his weird behaviour was not caused by mental incompetence, no, he just reincarnated. And somehow, even though now his name was Takashi, his name was Obito and he was a ninja and knew things. Somehow, his past self still existed. Even if the consciousness of "I" was not there, even if he _couldn't connect the damn dots_ -

It was there before he awakened.

Before he awakened, the presence of Obito just kind of hung in the background, irrelevant. He still had the impression that he was four, that he was Takashi, that he liked colouring books and playing catch. Just sometimes, things would get muddled. But he was never aware, not like now. Now, he remembers it and wants to weep, wants to curl into a ball and _die, because he was such a fucking idiot_. Because now, his mother isn't his mother any more, she's a women whose child he just replaced. He took Takashi away from her, forever; she will never again meet the bubbling child that had latched to her leg on the first day of kindergarten. That, although abnormal, would have grown up, gone to school, graduated, lived an ordinary life, if he hadn't taken over.

He's Obito now. There's no Takashi left, he's sure. He remembers being him, thinking in simplistic, cut-off concepts, in a language that was so similar to his own and yet different, but now everything's changed. He thinks like Obito; he _is_ Obito. There's no question about it. Before, when he didn't think he was Obito, when the name Takashi did it's job, only parts of the Uchiha appeared. Sometimes, he would know the things his twelve-years-old self knew, others, he would know facts from well into his twenties. One moment he would think he'll come back home to an empty house, dusty and dark, and another he would be convinced that the men in front of him in their queue is Itachi, with long, black hair, lean body and red eyes that glance at the chewing gum on the counter near the cashier with apprehension. 

As if he was fractured. As if there wasn't one Obito but multiple of them, each from a different period of his life, each appearing and disparaging haphazardly from his sense of "I". Making him sure of something one second only to make him unable to even consider it the next.

In other words: it was a mess.

Now, when he was whole, awake, he understood it. He judged with all his experiences of a 35 year old man, of a war veteran and a shinobi. And he was aware that he did those things. He was here, where he is almost sure he shouldn't be.

He had destroyed the child that was here, that existed (even if in a bizarre, half-not-there way), that had a whole life ahead of them.

A laugh broke through the tight clutches of his teeth, hoarse and disbelieving.

_He's lying to himself._

Because, if he wasn't meant to be here why would he be in this body from the beginning? He hasn't just randomly taken over an unknown four year old's body. The pieces of Obito were there from the moment he was born, just not available. Unconscious. Far away and broken, speaking to Takashi through a curtain, being Takashi but being apart and still Obito.

If he wasn't meant to be here, then Takashi wouldn't have either.

Because he created Takashi. The person that was the boy was him, and although he wasn't Takashi, the things that were him are still here. Simply, they have finally completed the puzzle, finally created the picture they were meant to be.

Should he feel guilty for being complete?

For killing somebody who didn't exist?

His laugh subsided. Jaw clamping together, he hunched down; the hands that were Takashi's clenched on the hospital bedsheets, grey and _Obito's._ Pale, corpse-like, with an unhealthy looking green tinge. He had similar hands when he died, when he sacrificed himself for Kakashi. That old bastard, still with a stick up his ass, even after all those years - a well hidden stick, yes, but definitely there. Though, he did get a little slack, Obito'll give him that (because he was broken; Kakashi was a god-damn wreck of a human on his good days, sitting before the memorial stone like a grieving mother, speaking to it like a fucking lunatic. In truth, if Obito had the chance to choose, he would have chosen the Young Kakashi over this one any day).

Funny, that now he looks so similar to both his young years and last moments; white hair, grey skin, chubby, innocent-looking cheeks and big eyes. No scars. No defined muscles of a warrior, or the intimidating height of his 30 years old self. The combo was a contradiction in and of itself - a child with the looks of someone who wanted to destroy the world but didn't succeed.

Ha. Hilarious.

How is he going to continue his ordinary life looking like this, huh?!

Because, yes, Obito is not going to leave his new parent, no way. He...

Letting his eyelids drop, Obito sighs.

He doesn't want to take Takashi away from his mother; for her sake, obviously. He - and it baffles him, still - feels _guilt_ thinking about it. Yeah, he couldn't really prevent his 'awakening' (he wouldn't want to), but he doesn't want the women that spent the last four years taking care of his idiot self to lose her only son. She was a good mother, and maybe, just maybe, he was attached to her? Well, don't get him wrong, he had killed people closer to him than that, simply leaving her doesn't compare, but... It seems wrong, and Rin had taught him better than that.

Besides, the women doesn't endanger him in any way. Even, if he was without her, it would be harder to get by! Now, he has a semi-stable household, a person that won't send him to a shrink, that feeds and clothes him for free and in addition he doesn't need to kill anyone for money. The environment provided by her would make it easy for him to learn about this world without any suspicions, and he wouldn't have to fight for his life to get by - which Obito was sure would be the case if he were on the streets.

In conclusion, staying with her is a good decision, logical - if he was in any danger, he would have left no matter the... Admittedly horrifyingly strong feelings he had for the women. 

He isn't a dumb fucking bitch anymore, he can make morally good and in the same time practical decisions!

He can!

He can make everything work! Even with his new, unnatural appearance. After all, he had seen some weird individuals around here; most people didn't even bat an eyelash at them, why would they at him (an irrational part of himself thinks that it will not apply to him, he was always the odd one out. Mostly for the wrong reasons, too)? He's determined.

Obito opens his eyes and allows his hands to slack loose off the hospital cover. It had an ugly rhombus pattern on it, lilac on white. Even he had a better fashion sense! Scoffing, the Uchiha averts his gaze from the offending piece of cloth. It travels to the window instead, mirror like and yet revealing the darkness outside. It was late; he was supposed to be sleeping, but in consideration of his age the nurses had left his desk-lamp on. The room, dimly lit by the warm light, still showed on the window. Like a two-way mirror.

Shuffling, he silently slides off the bed - there's no IV attached to his arm, not even a heart monitor, so he is free to wonder.

With bare feet, the shinobi makes his way to the window. The urge to open it is strong, with the stifling humidity of summer making him sweat, the hospital standard precautions adding to the warmth. Nimbly, he pulls himself up unto the windowsill and reaches for the handle; it's one of the windows that slide to the side, making his job even easier. The coolness of the concrete windowsill makes him shiver as he claps down onto it, letting his feet dangle to the side and slowly opening the glass wall. There's little wind but the difference is visible, pleasant. He hums with appreciation as a gentle gust of air hits his face, ruffling his hair and shifting his hospital gown. The outside is not calm, not in the least - cars (what a useful invention, truly) rush down the streets even at night, occasional ruckus making itself known in beeps and shouts. Sirens echo and he sees an Ambulance leave the hospital grounds with it's lights blearing.

Trees, scarcely scattered before the building also hum, though its muted. Obito can imagine the all encompassing forests of Konoha, with their steely yet easy presence and high barks. With branches that had been marked by multiple shinobi, that had made learning experiences for many generations of Konoha-nin.

Before the nostalgia can set in, he wipes his eyes and looks up. The stars are the same everywhere - they aren't solely of Konoha, or Rain or anywhere specific. They are. And yet, when Obito gazes at them they sparkle mockingly (funny, again, how just this particular night was made clear, as if to add to his misery). A memory surfaces, of him and Rin, of them stargazing on a night exactly like this; he isn't sure if the memory is from the afterlife or not. It's peaceful, it's painful.

And now his here.

There's no Rin.

No Minato.

No Kushina.

No Kakashi, that bastard.

Just him. When the tears fall he lets them, pushing out a laugh for company. No one to keep him in line. No great goal to accomplish. No chakra. He laughs lauder, leans forward clutching his belly.

_What is the point?_

Is this some kind of a punishment, a test? To see if he had changed enough, to - he couldn't even begin to phantom why, really - throw him into a scenario where his character would be examined, where he would be forced to decide if he should fallow his old ways or try to make things better? Of course it couldn't be as easy as him staying dead for the rest of eternity, oblivious and in company of people who were sure to keep him straight. No, he had to be reincarnated, for sage knows what damn reasons, all alone. Helpless.

Well, okay not helpless, but still.

_Will Rin be watching?_

Like last time, will she see his every failure, every misgiving, unable to beat some sense into him? Or, in this chakra-less world (yes, he's quite sure there's no chakra), would she be too far to see?

Obito doesn't want her to see.

Yet, he hopes she does - if he convinces himself that Rin is watching, he would be able to keep himself in line. If it turns out she doesn't... _Well_ , Obito thinks, mouth hanging open, _he wouldn't bother trying to survive_. It isn't even about the fact that he isn't afraid of death, nor the fact that he would very much prefer staying in the afterlife, no. It's that he doesn't have a motivation to keep going - he would find no shame in throwing himself under a car or stabbing his heart out, as long as it's away from Rin's gaze.

_What was the saying? 'What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't grieve for'? Something like that._

But, if she's watching (and he can never be sure)...

It's best to assume that she does, in case he has the urge to do something stupid. Which, yeah, he has. Looking down again, Obito eyes the pavement, the asphalt road; he's on the fourth floor so the fall probably wouldn't be deadly. Hands propped upon the window-frame, he sticks his head out into the open. Light breeze fluffs up his hair, and he thinks that if he had chakra the fall wouldn't be even dangerous.

He doesn't.

It's another of the things that was taken from him; when before it simmered underneath his skin, ready to be called, now there's nothing. In his abdomen there bubbles anxiety instead of chakra. Potent but useless. One of his hands comes back to caress the skin, hidden under the stiff material of his gown. Involuntarily, he flinches at he contact, instinctively surprised that he feels nothing; no warmth that twiddles at his fingertips, no fire lying in wait. Usually, it would already race up and down his spine, eager to be let out.

Now, it's empty. Weirdly enough, the nothingness is painful, like phantom pain of a limb that's no longer there - like an empty eye-socket, all healed and good but continuously empty.

He could ignore the pain if not for the vulnerability that skewers his insides. A coiled viper prepared to strike, to get the venom of fear into his veins. Obito won't allow it. 

He can't.

It's irrational - nobody in this world has chakra as far as he knows. People have powers, that's right, but most of them doesn't even come close to the abilities a chunin would have. As if a ninja was restricted to using only one jutsu through their entire life - pathetic! Huffing, he leans back into his room. Even if he doesn't have chakra he probably has one of those 'quirks', as they're called. What with his peculiar appearance and all that. The Uchiha's pretty sure it's something to do with his eyes, coming from the muddled memories of his awakening and prompt freak out.

That, he barely remembers, too out of it to even act on his training ( _which should not have happened_ , Obito thinks, _unless he's getting rusty. If that's the case, he needs to go back on track._ The thought of losing his abilities to the extant encroaching beyond chakra is too scary to contemplate). A blush creeps onto his cheeks, and his lips twitch. He should have gotten a hold of himself then, if only to avoid the embarrassment that kills him now.

_Such a thing cannot repeat._

Even if he was sure of his abilities, getting distracted was a way to go six feet under. Skilled jounin could be off-ed by genin if they froze like that - just like a civilian with a spear can kill a samurai wielding a sword. In this line of work you paid with your life if you made a mistake like that.

Obito was better than this! Shaking his head, the shinobi confirmed that fact at least to himself; he would have tutted at his recklessness if it weren't too humiliating. Of course the thought that anyone thrown into this situation would have probably reacted with similar intensity went ignored. Someone as experienced as he had no excuse for committing a crime of that level, he should have kept a cool head even if faced by pain.

It wasn't even comparable to the worst injuries he ever experienced, wasn't even in the top twenty! Obito scowled, glancing down at his feet. Was it because of this body? Sure, as a 35 year old his pain tolerance was high, but maybe here his body was too delicate? His mind may be desensitised, but the nerves were not? That was a fair guess, though he's not a med-nin and cannot confirm it.

_Yeah, let's stick with that._

Still, the break down is unhelpful in finding the origin of his pain; and therefore confirming if it could be what he thinks it was. The Sharingan. How could it exist without chakra he has no idea, but the pain from back then felt so familiar he's willing to take the risk of looking like an idiot. It was like the Mangekyou all over again - hazy as the memory was, the feeling of the Mangekyou is unforgettable. Unmistakable. Hope sparkles in Obito's gut, lithe and wavering. If he has the power of the Mangekyou, there's a chance for him! That was his main fighting tool apart from chakra itself. If by some unholy luck it transferred to this body... That would be a fucking miracle!

Sliding off the windowsill onto the floor, he makes his shaky way to the bathroom - it's small and the light switch's too high to turn on, but it will suffice. He leaves the door open so the darkness inside disperses a little and stands in front of the sink. He steps onto the plastic stool provided by the hospital so he could reach the tap, and standing on his toes, makes eye-contact with his reflection. The boy in the mirror is a sharper image of the one he saw in the window earlier. It's him and it's not, and Obito is inclined to say he doesn't like it.

The body is not dissimilar enough from his original self to prove taxing to recognize, but the unnerving combination of innocence and hate makes his stomach churn. Breathing in the smell of disinfectant, Obito forces his body to stop fidgeting. He stares long and hard, creases his brow, focuses. His meagre muscles tense. Nerves strung tight, suddenly he has the reflex to throw up - stifling it, he clamps his teeth together. His eyes water. He doesn't dare blink.

Instead, he imagines the flow of chakra to his eyes, the feeling of boiling needles in his eye-sockets. How his brain would sting when his vision sharpened, how the world shifted and came into place. How his irises bleed red, leaving only three black commas...

His reflection smiles, eyes crimson.

A chuckle escapes him. After it, though, comes bile - he barely has the chance to reach the toilet seat, overwhelmed by a mess of sensations. Without adrenaline to enable him to forget the sudden change in perspective, his body screams in protest. His sight is so good, everything that he looks at so detailed, that his brain cannot take it. He leans over the seat just on time. His mouth convulses, opens and closes with no instruction from him. Clenching his eyes shut, he heavies the vile smelling liquid for five minutes straight. When the 'waves' finally seem to halt, he slumps down, tongue aflame. Almost digested dinner and stomach acid dripping from his chin, Obito grins like an idiot. Cracking his eyes open comes as more of a challenge than before, but when he does the scarlet of them is still blazing. No matter that he almost fell on his face while trying to get to the toilet - everything happened in slow motion! Sharingan slow motion, to be specific! Laughing, he flushes the infested water and comes up to his feet. They're considerably more steady than before, taking him back to the mirror with grace.

Obito starts the tap and washes his mouth, giddy like a cat on cat-nip. When he finally gazes up, the sight of the Sharingan almost brings his heart to a stop. He's not finished though. Steadying his breath, he repeats the process from before - focus, grip the sink as if you wanted to crack it, don't blink. Until he feels it; eyelids closing, there's pain that grows in his temples. When he finally opens them, it is not the three tomoes that greet him - it's his Mangekyou. Whites stricken with red veins, blood gathers at his lashes. Soon he's crying crimson, every drop causing his headache to worsen.

The smile that splits his face probably doesn't help.

When his hands phase through the sink - he feels them cross the dimensions, shivers at the cold that suddenly encompasses them - ecstasy hits him. It gives no more warning than he would give an assassination target, and makes him cackle. The sound thrusts its way out of his throat in a burst, scratching at the ache in his brain unpleasantly. Obito flails on the stool before falling on his butt. He thuds on the floor heavily, and fights to not phase through it - it takes a surprising amount of effort to convince his brain that crushing onto somebody from the ceiling is not a good idea.

He gives the tiles an amused pat, as if they were the ones telling him that it would make for a great prank. His eyes crinkle as he flops onto the ground, still laughing maniacally. The cold shocks his semi-open back, passing goosebumps across his limbs like vibrations.

As much as he doesn't want to be here, this is great.

_Fucking fantastic._

...

When he stops laughing his tears had already turned translucent.

...

The patrolling nurse finds him curled in bed. She doesn't realise he had gotten there on the last minute, just before she opened the door; doesn't even suspect it, seeing his calm breathing.

She switches the desk-lamp off and closes the window, and goes on her merry way.

Obito breathes a sigh of relief five minutes after her departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter I've ever written for any of my works - is it good though? I had half a mind to delete it for the blatant exposition, rapid change of subjects and unfinished threads of thought, but then I was like... Eh, it's not that bad. Plus it's long, and I'm here like, all about the length. 
> 
> Btw, the rhyme at the beginning was unintentional. When I saw it I was too lazy to change it.
> 
> And yes, all the things Obito said about Takashi being him, but him not being Takashi were accurate, even if seemingly contradictory. If you get what's going on in Obito's head then congratulations, you are already ahead of this humble author.  
> Leave a comment, kudos, whatever does you good; they're all needed.


	3. Useless

Misaki, his mother, did not have a car. From what he understood, she did not find it necessary, as everything she needed was accessible by train or bus. Or walking, which right now did not inspire much enthusiasm in him. A pout almost made its way onto his lips before he stifled it, suddenly frustrated by the fact that the though of a pointless invention made him so excited.

Obito scowled.

His memories of riding in a car were unsatisfying at best, not showcasing the amazing nature of the machine - because yes, even he could give credit where it was due, and here it certainly was. As a shinobi, he moved mostly by foot, sometimes making use of a cart or a bike; and it was all he needed, since the speeds he could achieve were greater than any vehicle. Not to say that in the Nations there was machinery half as fast as a car; seeing the technology here, he would agree that the one back there was severely underdeveloped. Nonetheless, even if there _were_ things like cars, Obito would still outrun all of them.

So, technically, for him a car would be pointless. But, once again, _here..._

It wasn't the case. Without chakra, Obito sincerely doubts he can achieve the speeds he reached as a ninja, which would make a car more than just usable. It would be necessary. Cars could move as fast as jounin on an urgent mission, and those were the speeds he glimpsed in the limiting environment of the town. Obito cannot wait to glimpse their full capabilities.

That's why, while heading out the self-opening doors of the hospital (again, technology!) his scowl did not recced one bit.

His mother had a chance to choose to go home by the ambulance - the staff offered, saying he was young, confused and had just experienced something traumatic, and that even if he is healthy, it would be risky to set him open into the rush and bustle of the city. But, Misaki, in her no-nonsense attitude, declined. _Their apartment complex is close, no need to bother_ , she told them. If the Uchiha was half as homicidal as he was in his twenties, he would have already attempted to strangle her; for killing his chance to fill out the gap in skill the lack of chakra had left him with. He isn't, and now murder is only a persistent thought.

Under the midday sun, Obito narrowed his eyes. One good thing about hospitals was that they did moderate the temperature inside - now his hand was already getting clammy, clasped in the gentle clutches of her mother's, his hair clamped down on his neck as sweat gathered above his brow. A car would be really nice. Not quite able to stop it, with Misaki dragging him along at fast pace, he let out a sigh.

This was pathetic.

His stamina was shit.

Either give him a car or his chakra, because he's about to blow a gasket! Seriously, even his memories could not prepare him for the sad wreck that was his current body - small, weak and fucking frustrating. Even with the years of experience in his head, with the eyes of the Uchiha and the skill in using them, Obito hadn't felt this helpless in quite some time. Not helpless in a way that he was defeated by an enemy stronger then him; in a way that he was obviously at fault of the situation. Just as much as he hated the obliviousness he suffered from as Takashi, he hated the fact that the brat did not train. Not one bit - in mind and in body. The child, although curious of the world, was never able to acquire any useful information either - he did not question things with the attentiveness of a shinobi, never went out of his way to gather intel!

Cars would be a perfect example! Takashi saw them, knew their name and what they did, but nothing beyond it - no knowledge of how they were made, when and by who they were invented, how they worked and what their speeds were. What they were made of or how much they costed; if you could just drive them or needed a permission, if they were accessible to people who didn't really need them (like he and his mother), if they could be stolen as easily as a horse, if you could get them of any colour or it they were colour-coded. Nothing! If Obito could, he would have beaten sense into the boy - now he would be just hitting himself, which would be pointless, because he knows better.

He isn't naive anymore, if he wants something he's going to get it. Well, at least when it comes to intel.

This, as much as he loathes to admit it, is the perfect scenario to do just that.

Getting used to the brightness of the day, his attention turned to the streets. Truly, night-time did not do justice displaying the busyness of the town; vehicles barely fit, crammed together in traffics and around cross-roads. Some, big like houses and twice as long, sped on the sides; some, similar to bikes of all things, he often glimpsed slalom between their larger counterparts, their riders leaning heavily to the sides. It was hard to find two models of the same design, each car differing somewhat from another - be it in colour, length or the height of their tires, each seemed just a little tweaked. There were cars of which the surface was smooth and the overall shape almost oval, windows black and mirror-like; there were those that looked like three squares joint together with added tires and peeled-off edges.

There were patterns in their movements, in their placement on the road - the cars turning left would blink the lights on their left sides just before turning, while the cars turning right would do the opposite; if the weird lamps on the side-walks lighted red, all cars before them would stop, waiting until the colour changed back to green. At the same time, cars going from the side would start, crossing the middle of the cross-road in a rush, until their lamps turned red. The whole process would just rinse and repeat, and in all the minutes Obito had it in sight, he didn't see it change.

There _were_ rules to how the cars moved, then. Of course, he did expect that, just couldn't imagine how it could work on such a big scale. In Konoha, carts were expected to abide by some rules too - but they were lax and more to do with everybody involved just having awareness of how to behave around them (the drivers knowing not to go too fast, the bystanders knowing not to walk carelessly). The Uchiha thinks that the system only worked because of the incredibly small number of carts involved and of the severe, ninja-induced punishments for trying to break the limitations set. Most civilians had a healthy fear of shinobi, especially if they were travelling merchants in a hidden village, where if they were not careful enough they would never be allowed to come back to (or at least that was the spoken threat; if it was true, Obito did not know).

This here, was decidedly not a hidden village. Nor did it resemble the towns Obito had frequented, with it's asphalt roads and tall buildings. Buildings that were very dangerous - hazily, Obito recalls history lessons about the era of the 'tall homes', when the population growth following the warring clans period forced some cities to build very tall constructs. Which proved hazardous in wars, easily put down by the more powerful jutsu and quite inconvenient in their falls, able to bury many streets at once. The casualties coming from the buildings were too many, costs in building them too much and the danger too high, so, following the Second Shinobi War, nobody was willing to create them.

No, this decidedly was nowhere Obito had frequented before.

Not speaking about the ridiculous notion of _heroes_ , that was popular here. From the job description alone, Obito would have concluded them Shinobi, just modified to the circumstance and skills available to them. But, no, they were _not_ Ninja. Not even close. The Uchiha blanched at the idea that the heroes could be compared to shinobi - they were simply too different! Shaking his head, Obito felt disgusted. They - they... Each and every one of them, _heroes,_ behaved like the Hokage, flashy, smiley and for-the-public! With not even a drop of the skill a Hokage would have! If they were an army, he was questioning how they hadn't disbanded yet, with the apparent organization of a hornet's nest on fire (with rabid bees in-between and birds ready to eat any escapees all around). Okay, yes, they were somewhat effective, but from the footage Takashi had seen they were nothing compared to the force of a hidden village - even a village as relaxed as Konoha was better at intercepting threats than that!

Plus, the sheer pompousness most of the _heroes_ displayed was sickening. Even Naruto would be fucking ashamed, damn it! Obito would have screamed it from the rooftops if the fools had any chance of understanding. Really, even that brat could work in the shadows, could understand that there were times where you needed finesse (even if he himself was unable to deliver it, he would know to let someone else do it) - people here, definitely didn't!

Unknowingly, Obito worked himself up, looking more and more like a tomato. His seething expression could only be prescribed to a child throwing a tantrum, which caught the attention of his mother. Who, with all the experience of four years, decided to deal with it at home rather than on the streets; god knows that straddling a screaming toddler was not a good image, an image that often warrants the interference of heroes. Nobody would want to deal with that, so if Takashi wanted to fight her he would need to do so at home.

Of course, Obito himself did not know what Misaki was thinking, and the rapid change of pace only served to make him more agitated. Short legs being a new development for him (anti-development? He did go back...), it was natural that such a speed would cause him to stumble sooner or later. No matter how graceful he could be in motion normally - this was a body not accustomed to his movements, nor to a host with as high standards as his. So, when he finally did trip, he tripped _hard_.

The fact of a potential fall registered in him the moment he put his foot wrong. It was like first Sharingan activation; you see what is gonna happen but you're unable to stop it because your body still has limits. But this time it's pavement that'll meet you if you fail to move, not the blade of a kunai. _Well, not the worst exchange,_ Obito thought falling face first onto the ground -

Or not.

His nose was about to be planted into someone's calf, because that's his luck. And the guy was just taking a step...

Shit!

At the last moment his hand slipped from his mother's and Obito plummeted forwards. Face scrunched up, he almost bounced off of the stranger's leg to the side; the crunch of his nose could be heard, and the Shinobi was sure that it was broken. _Great._ Fortunately, he had the little time needed to rise up his hands to somewhat cushion the rest of the fall - otherwise his visage might have ended even worse than that. Though now his hands were also a mess...

Immediately after landing, Obito rolled to the side and looked up. _Good, his instincts were not as dull as he feared._ What his eyes met was not as good, on the other hand. The man, who had stumbled back a little from the impact, looked mad. Not in the angry sense, but in the I-have-not-been-sleeping-for-the-past-week sense. Like Sasori on his bad days. His face looked sunken in, sick, bruises under his eyes probably a constant feature. The slightly parted lips of the stranger revealed yellow, rotting teeth, and suddenly Obito was happy that he wasn't any taller - the guy's breath must be terrible. Not that the rest of him smelled any better, as even from his position, Obito felt the waft of dirt (opium, piss, sweat, rot - anything you might want) invade his nostrils. If that didn't speak for itself, the man's demeanour would; hunched, visibly jittery, hands in the pockets of his hoodie and knees bent as if not able to carry their owner's weight.

If it had been any other person, Obito would have probably sprang up with a 'sorry' on his lips, and fake tears forming in his eyes. Now, he only stared, stared as the guy _maddeningly_ slowly turned his black-eyed gaze on him, cocked his head like a cat ready to jump and made eye contact with the Shinobi.

Bloodlust, too unfocused to be truly _sharp_ , leaked into the air. Obito would have raised an eyebrow if he didn't have precise control over his body, would have laughed as the man lunged. Would have clicked his tongue, because Misaki was too slow to get to him on time, and the starved madman too desperate for his own good. He didn't. Instead, like a doll, he let himself be grabbed, twisted in the men's arms so his back pressed against the attackers belly and let the switch-blade rest on his neck. 

The Uchiha did not manage to stop the deadpan that took over his face, nor the eye-roll. Like, did this guy know what he was doing? His arms were like twigs, and even in this form Obito could've gotten out easily. The switch-blade was too short to pierce his throat through; it was also rusty from what Obito could glimpse of it, so if the man wanted to even nick his skin, it would require much force. None of that would have stopped him if he really wanted to kill the child in his grasp, but first of all, Obito wasn't truly a child, and second, if the man hasn't made a move straight away, he probably wants som-

His mother's shrill scream tore through his thoughts. _Right._ He has an audience, there's no time to debate over useless stuff! He pushed- but... What the fuck?! Obito's limbs were numb! As in, his fingers and toes felt as if circulation was cut off from them for long enough to make them nothing more than dead-weight, and anything higher was slowly becoming just like that. The soft tingling under his skin... How could he miss something like that, huh?!

Fuck this shit, so the guy _was_ prepared. What a surprise.

If Obito could, he would be hitting his head against some wall. His deadpan expression deepened, because apparently he was still an idiot. The tingling in his limbs travelled up, and the ninja could imagine quite clearly what it would do to his lungs. He couldn't let that happen, it would surely count as suicide...

Idly, he let his killer intent flood out.

If killer intent was a physical weapon, his captor has the embodiment of his own capabilities - dull and rusty. To compare, Obito's would be like Kakashi's tanto or Madara's scythe. The man behind him froze under it's concentrated force, mouth clamping shut with a last wheezing breath. As if it was his throat under a blade; for a civilian, Obito must give the guy some credit, since most would have already fell unconscious.


	4. If an organization of morons is better than you... There's no hope left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obito recalls many facts about the Akatsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Obito kinda generalizes the term 'psychopath'. There's a little action but nothing drastic.

Obito has two options now - one, to use his Sharingan and phase through the guy. Two, to wait there like a good little sheep, pretending to fear for his life. Well, both options had their faults; the men's quirk was still activated, even if it's owner had stopped working, so Obito's lungs were still in danger of being numbed motionless. This meant that his best option was to assume that ceasing contact with the man will save him, and that using Mangekyou will be worth it. At the same time, he thinks he remembers there being some regulations on using your quirk in public and without permission, and Obito really doesn't want to risk it. Plus this is broad daylight, on a busy street, where neither him nor the weirdo holding him would be able to get away from justice - which also meant that the chance of being rescued was quite high.

But there's a problem with that too. Obito will die from embarrassment if some stupid Shinobi wannabe rescues him. Right after he's gone on a tangent about how inefficient they are. In a situation that he _could_ have saved himself from, could have prevented even, if he wasn't a fucking moron.

Blowing his cover just because of an overblown ego is something a moron would do, and Obito has had enough of being that.

He's smart, he's not afraid to die and embarrassment is the least he'd have to pay for being able to continue his plans. So, yeah, option two! Though, as the tingling reached his hips and biceps, Obito was already regretting his decision; just like he predicted, the guy freaking stunk! Through the scent of his own blood, the ninja could already discern many different smells on the men, none of them pleasant. Crinkling his nose, Obito dubled down on his killer intent. Why couldn't he have been taken hostage by someone who showered?! Was it that hard to turn on the tap and wash up? Or even use deodorant like a sane fucking person! Even Kakuzu washed every once in a while, what with him being a literal monster who didn't sweat as much. Okay, maybe he wasn't the best example... Eh, Kisame? Despite always stinking of dead fish, he bathed regularly - after Itachi joined even more so, if in consideration of the other's senses or something else, Obito can only speculate, but still.

Was it that hard to stay clean?

No.

Being a psycho did not excuse you from bathing yourself, Obito would know. Though now he could see why psychos had such bad reputation amidst civilians; it is no surprise they thought Akatsuki some brutes with one shared brain cell if this is what came up in their minds at the word 'psycho'! Honestly... Yes, he can admit that some of the Akatsuki pairs did seem to share a brain cell (at best), but lets not judge a whole by the few! Obito was pretty sure Itachi did not share his suicidal brains with anybody, and Deidara's braincells trickled out whenever he used explosives, so.

All the same, Obito had the urge to wretch.

How long is he going to wait?! Huh?! ANBU would be on the guy seconds after he attacked, if this was Konoha. With Obito being an Uchiha even more so, but that's irrelevant. So why, for sage's sake, did nobody come here yet?! An innocent child is being held at a knifepoint, hello?!

Did he jinx himself earlier by saying that the _heroes_ were not as quick to stop trouble as Shinobi? Was it a curse? Was Obito's luck dependant on his good intentions? As in, the better of a person he is, the worse his luck gets? Because that seems to be the case, really -

The numbness has reached his shoulders and his gut, is it okay to panic by now?

He'll either use his Sharingan, or he'll die, _he doesn't know if it's even worth it, oh my god, Rin please close your eyes_ -

And suddenly he's pushed out of the guy's grip, flying onto the pavement. The landing is surprisingly soft, even if it wrenches a painful breath out of him - then he's laid safely on the ground, face up. Still able to move his head, Obito's gaze quickly found his benefactor. A man, clothed almost completely in black, with medium length hair and a white scarf around his neck, standing in a tensed fighting stance above the restrained maniac. Who was trashing and snarling, mind completely lost in the combined effort of the bindings and Obito's killer intent. Bindings that seemed awfully similar in material to the ones wounding around his saviour's shoulders...

The Shinobi would have chuckled at the view, because how pathetic can you get, but that would definitely destroy his cover - instead, he forced his eyes to water, blinking rapidly and accelerating his breathing.

His act seemed to work, because come next sniffle his mother seemed to come to life; she had been frozen for the whole procedure, shaking and pale but unresponsive. Now, roused as if from a nightmare, she franticly shook her head. Apparently looking for her Takashi, because when her eyes locked on him, she immediately rushed to his side. The distressed whine that escaped her lips did not go unnoticed, and soon his benefactor's attention was also on them.

"Takashi, Takashi! My baby, are you alright?!" her words were mumbled, tongue twisted by fright. Obito blinked and tried to convey something that did not come easy to him; fear, but also forced bravery, as if he was a boy who wanted to appease his mother with a smile. With tears finally streaming down his face, he must've looked pretty convincing, since the women seemed all the more apologetic. "Oh, honey, did he hurt you? I thought...!"

Between sobs, he cried out, "S-sorr-y, mo-mm-my! I-I didn' wa-want..." then he burst out crying full volume, like any good actor would.

"It's okay, it's all good now," realising that her panic was not helping, she began to attempt to calm him down. Unfortunately, she decided that taking him into a hug would be the best way to accomplish that, and maybe if he truly was a toddler it would be, but he wasn't. If his limbs could stiffen, they would have, as the women that though herself his mother embraced him with all her might. Mumbling sweet nothings at him, she didn't notice his jaw clenching nor his eyes piercing her skull.

In all honesty, Obito might not have noticed either, if not for the looming presence of the man that rescued him. The second his stare came down onto the ninja, unease flooded his mind. Blinking, his face slackened in minute shock, not prepared for the man to be so attentive. Returning to his act promptly, he tried to give an impression of a scared child with his next words, "M-mom, I-I can' m-move!"

Before Misaki could react to that, the gravelly voice of the man cut through the air.

"Ma'am? Your son had been affected by a numbing quirk, he will be alright. I have already called for an ambulance just in case though, they will be here any minute," he assured her, eyes unrelentingly fixed on them. They were coal like, pupils barely distinguished from irises; together with his black hair and light skin tone, Obito would have been convinced the man was an Uchiha. Joint with the unaffected sound of his voice, it made for quite the image.

If Obito himself hadn't killed or seen the bodies of all Uchiha that he had ever met but one (plus himself), he would have even bothered to check that conviction.

...

His second visit at the hospital was no more bearable (although he got to experience a healing quirk for his broken nose. That was an experience that he was thankful for, and would be even more so if it could get rid of the numbness). Especially when the nurses wanted to be all funny, joking that _they did not expect such a fast return, he must really like it here._ He did not. 

No ninja did, at least none that he had met and that weren't med-nin in training; from what he heard, those working at the hospital often hated it the most, but since he was neither able to confirm nor deny, Obio would go with the version that all shinobi of sufficient experience detested those clinical halls equally. Even Itachi, for all his detachment from the world, would not stay in a place remotely similar to a hospital for more than ten days without trying to break out. Obito saw this on his own eyes (eye), when the seemingly untouched crow sneaked out of his room to go buy some dango - it was when his disease took a severe relapse, and he couldn't breathe more than a few breaths without coughing up blood. Instead of allowing the Rain medics to treat it, like any sane fucking person, Itachi told them to give him civilian medicine and let him wait for it to get better.

Obito was not pleased, neither was Kisame, though both for entirely opposite reasons; Obito because Itachi was not doing his work, was being an idiot that 'Madara' could not afford to oppose and was not a great example for the rest of the organization! Kisame, on the other hand... Let's say that his reasons sprung from a more personal grievance. An itch that Obito had no interest in watching.

Let the shark pine - he thought - if he keeps Itachi alive for longer, then Obito has no objections.

The Uchiha wonders now, if this is how Itachi felt, cupped up in disinfected sheets with people standing over him. As if he was going to kick the bucket any moment. Because that's definitely what Misaki must think while sitting at his bedside, head in her hands and a tremble in her legs. Your kid is not going to die, stop mourning you weak woman! Stifling the urge to growl, Obito pretended to be interested in the cartoon his mother gave him to watch on her phone. Which was a very hard task, again, since it was so moronic that even Naruto would want to throw it against the wall. 

Not the only thing he wanted to do that with, but as it was, stinting urges was Obito's all time hobby, so.

No reason to give up now.

Looking for a distraction, Obito gave the room a discrete glance. It was not the same he had been in before, but certainly as plain. He had a night-stand next to his bed, two chairs, one of witch was occupied by his mother, and a stool on the other side. Opposite of his bed and a little bit on the left was a bathroom, and perpendicular to it was the open entrance connecting his room to the halls of the building. Once in a while a nurse bustled by, but none of them bothered him any more. Good, there wasn't anything more to do with him - the numbness receded almost completely, only lingering in his feet.

If he wanted to, he could probably walk already. Which was great, really, but left a sour taste in Obito's mouth. As in, the situation he allowed to happen had been the most embarrassing, with consequences that left him almost defenceless. He still had his eyes, true, but they were easy to get rid of - if someone had such a desire, knocking him out and taking the Sharingan out would be child's play. Or skip all the steps, simply catch him unawares and kill him; easy to a degree that killing him had not been in a long time. Until his arms hadn't gone back to normal, Obito had been on edge. Put it however you want, but logic and reason were two things his paranoia was always deaf to. It didn't matter what he knew, if there was even a slight chance of danger (there always was. The only place the Uchiha had felt at ease in since coming out of Madara's cave had been the afterlife) reasoning would be ignored.

So, even if Obito knew that nobody here had a reason to kill him, and an encounter with another madman was unlikely, his mind was strung tight. Despite his body being mostly healed, there was no hope that he would let down his guard. Not that he would have done that even if everything went normal - it would have been just a tiny bit less persistent. Now, high-wired and quite wrung out if he was being honest with himself, Obito was ready to fling the device in his hands at anybody who tried anything.

What didn't mean he would - that was a step away from blowing his cover, and that's a thing he really wanted to avoid.

There were times, when if such a mood caught him, he _would_ indeed, throw things at people; preferably kunai, though shuriken and other pointy objects were never amiss either. His hands itched at the thought of something sharp, something he could use -

But the only thing that could do any damage that he had at hand, was the damn phone. The incessant melody coming from it would give Deidara a run for his money (the Uchiha longed to forget the unfortunate events following Konan's suggestion that Deidara finds himself a secondary art-form. The boy had talent for many of those, but music was decidedly not one of them; all 'pieces', sung or otherwise, made by the kid were a torture to listen to. Sasori needed to be physically restrained from killing the brat when he first presented one of his songs to the puppeteer), and conjoined with the horrific animation it was almost begging to be used for interrogation. Obito is convinced that if you played it long enough to a prisoner they would spill all their secrets.

The device in itself was clever enough, able to make calls, provide entertainment and information all in one. From Takashi's memories, the ninja could already see multiple uses for such a thing - much more than he saw in the phones from the Shinobi nations. They were never something he was overly interested in, given the fact that they were easier to hack into than an average government archive. Most hidden villages controlled the calls coming from and into the village, and the money you paid for them was simply not worth it. Add to it wiretapping, the ease with which the information you send out could be traced back to you and that most phones were tracking devices, and suddenly no ninja wanted to own one. Shinobi preferred the wait a letter send by a bird would bring, rather than their messages being listened into. Sending your post by a human messenger was less risky than doing so by phone - Kisame once offered a story from the bloody-mist, how the rebels were almost discovered and defeated by one call.

So, no, Obito had little interest in the technology. Until now, because although he still had no desire to communicate with it, he would certainly use it to entertain himself. The sole reason he hadn't switched the fucking cartoon off, was his mother being too insistent on choosing it for him. Takashi had rarely defied her when it came to their watching material, if he did that here suspicion could arise.

That's why, trying to ignore the annoying tune with ungodly desperation, Obito turned his focus away from the device. His mother had not moved once since clamping down onto her seat, and the last nurse that passed in the hallway had hurried away about five minutes ago. The smell of detergent was almost as bad as the stink of the guy on the street. The windows to his left looked appealing, but his feet were still out of order. He could probably hide in the bathroom for a while, but that again required walking - he could get there on his hands if he must, though he was not yet that bored. What other was there to do? Hmm...

One of his hands found it's way up to his right eye - he didn't yet have the chance to try out the more ordinary abilities of the Sharingan. Genjutsu, photographic memory, copying techniques... Even the less ordinary, like Susanoo or Amaterasu. Or if he could fully access his other dimension.

Yes, yes, that would be pretty.

A smile almost made it's way onto Obito's lips - the corners of his eyes crinkled, followed by a slight twitch in his cheeks. _There will be time for everything._

His thoughts were cut short though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've meant for this chapter's contents to be a part of the previous chapter, but that one practically posted itself without my consent, so... Here you are. 
> 
> Leave a comment and kudos, they always make my day!


	5. A police man and an ANBU wannabe walk into a...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Police enters the picture and Obito has a mild frak-out.

Footsteps beat down the hallway, crisp against the relative silence of the hospital.

Obito can't say he doesn't reflexively count them, doesn't recognise the number of people coming or their most probable weight and posture. His brain files all those things away, even if there was little possibility for those people to be coming to get him. It's instinct by that point.

There's four people in the group.

Two nurses, female, which are given away by their brisk steps made in the same hospital mandated shoes. Their shoe soles made a particular noise while hitting the floors, unmistakable to the trained ear.

And two males. One, with rather heavy but energetic pace and boots which Obito bets were more suited in a meeting room rather than combat.

Second, and this one was more interesting, definitely had some real training. Whereas the previous guy could come off as genin in polite company, the second one had this muffle to his steps, had that distinct lack of presence... Obito would peg him for a newby ANBU, if he were to be honest. Without years of practice, he wouldn't have heard the man; it was only because he was a of similar level, that he understood the thinking processes and habits of such people. He understood the hesitance in the slight sound of those boots landing on the floor, of a person who was trying to convince themselves that they should stop walking silently because most people find it creepy, and this is a hospital so what is the danger?

He heard them, and the beast inside him perked up.

This was a ninja, or at least as close as you can get to one in this pathetic place. If he hasn't already uncorked his killing intent that day, it might have enthusiastically burst out at the upcoming meeting. Like a dog's tail wagging as its owner is about to throw a ball. Degrading, sure, but Obito had spend a lifetime giving in to his basic urges (funny, that. He learned to go with the flow in the same time making a hobby of stopping himself. The contradictory nature of those two did not escape him, but as many things in life, this too was a senseless one. He'd slaughter a caravan of merchants endangering the client's business as if they were nothing, as if they blood was ichor for him to drink. And the next day he would exercise his patience by not murdering Deidara everytime he said something stupid. Funny) - he'd kill and take pleasure in it, he'd fight and spill blood and laugh - all while forgetting the horrible nature of those deeds, enjoying the simple fact that he can do them. Many years of such behaviour had left a mark it seemed. The Uchiha breathed in the smell of disinfectant, nostrils flaring, and waited.

Will they pass by?

Will they stop?

He counted. Ten paces away, nine paces away.

Seven.

Five.

Three.

Two.

One...

The figures halted, and one of the nurses informed:

"Oh, this is it."

Her voice was meek, clearly intimidated by something.

"Thank you," answered one of the males, standing just at the door frame. His black and white suit was old, well kept, but you could glimpse the wear of the material on the elbows and the collar. The way he flashed his dimples at the dainty nurse could be either seductive or plain thankful, Obito had a hard time establishing that. On one hand, the man's body language was open and inviting, slightly mirroring the nervous gestures of the nurse as she explained not to tire the patient too much. On the other, he was not fully facing her, and his eyelids seemed to twitch every time the woman repeated that they were questioning a child and that they should be mindful.

By the time her rant was finished, the ninja could barely stand the act he was forced to play; of a child engorged in a stupid cartoon, who absolutely did not send secretive glances to the gathering of people by the door, and who wasn't stretched taunt by the wait. Obito's blood boiled as the strangers kept on conversing, ready to supply adrenaline to his brain - keeping his heartbeat somewhat steady was a chore, but he prevailed.

Apart from the rise and fall of his ribcage, the shinobi was completely still. Any tapping, twitching or shuffling a normal nervous person would do were absent. Obito nearly stopped blinking, only realizing that he did when a fly almost sat on his eye. Lashes flicking, he flexed his fingers, which were partially bandaged, and let his gaze land on the officer. Because that's who the man at the door was - police. Or some kind of law enforcement. _Little difference_ , Obito thought. In Konoha, the boundaries between government, army and police were very muddled, especially after the Uchiha massacre. The inner affairs division was divided between career chunin, permanently or temporarily disabled jounin, some ANBU if the Hokage thought they'd be of use (or something. Although Obito was spying on the village he did not sit in the Hokage's office 24/7) and genin who were employed on the pretence of doing missions. And of course T&I, but they were both internal and external; also not really law enforcement, but their quarters _were_ used as holding cells, since the original police station stood abandoned.

The official Konoha Police Force was never reinstated because of the sentiment for the Uchiha (a political move. The Hokage wanted to show that there never will be someone able to replace the Uchiha, and to 'respect' the Second's will that said the Police department could be governed only by Uchiha), and apart from the initial chaos, nobody complained. After enough time, people got used to the new system and eventually even said that it was better this way.

At the time he heard it, Obito just shrugged. He killed more than a half of them, why feel sting at the truth? But as he looked back at that, he did feel a little bit angry. It bubbled at the base of his throat, insignificant and easily forgettable. He ignored it as the man at the door finally looked in. His gaze swept the room with a steely glint, leaning away from his conversation. Seeing that Obito was at attention though, he smiled more widely and...

Waved?

Crowfeet appeared at the corners of his eyes as Obito waved back, sure that his baffled expression looked as true as it was. _Only add silver hair and a mask and he could pose as Kakashi, that bastard._ Though he did lack grace, the kind that his childhood rival had flowing in his veins. 

Fortunately, as the man's focus turned away from the conversation (which was basically a run down of his 'injuries' and an explanation of his new looks) his assumed partner took over. Just behind the officer, a figure made itself known. In the LED lighting of the hallway, it was easy to make out his features - Obito recognized him in an instant. It was the hero who 'rescued' him!

What did the nurses call him...?

Eraser-head?

The Uchiha forces himself to look back to the phone in his hands, pretending to be more interested in it than in the smiling officer. His feet were tingling with the last pinpricks of the numbness, and he tried to not think about what a hindrance they would be in a fight. Because there would be no fight! The Uchiha was convinced that the hero police duo were here only for the standard rundown of what happened. He wouldn't be interrogated, since he was but a child in their eyes, and this was not Konoha. They had little to no reason to arrest him, unless he broke laws he was not aware of. Which was a possibility, but still - as far as Obito knew, in this place one couldn't just accuse a four year old of a crime and send them to jail. Unless the crime was serious, though Obito did nothing wrong even by Konoha standards.

If he did, they would have him in cuffs before he was admitted to the hospital! Plus they wouldn't come here simply talking at the entrance, all relaxed.

With that, the shinobi breathed out a sigh. Working himself up would accomplish nothing. Being this nervous would only make them suspect that he was guilty of something (if they somehow saw that he was nervous). So, calm down - he told himself, sinking back into the bed sheets.

From the corner of his eye he could still observe the two newcomers, who, by the time he finished his short freak out, were both on the verge of ending their conversation.

"He was appointed to quirk counselling, but that will be in a few days, still, so at the moment we don't know what his abilities are - apart from the change in appearance, that is. While we have no reason to think it will be dangerous to others, I do commend you to be careful -"

"Yes, we know," cut her off the 'hero'. His frown was a great indicator of what he thought of her insistent reminders. "Besides, as you should know, my quirk would prevent any unsavoury situations."

"Your- _You_ will be questioning him?!" the nurse almost screeched. Eraser-head rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, ready to retort, but sensing a possibly catastrophe, his partner intervened.

"Eraser here is good with children, despite his gruff appearance," his amicable smile seemed to give the women a stop. "Plus kids love heroes! Little Takashi is sure to be more eager to talk to his saviour rather than to someone boring like me."

Obito almost rose an eyebrow at the perfect dodge, quite impressed that the guy had the acting skills good enough to seem sincere while saying all that. They just wanted to interrogate him, and as it turned out the 'hero's quirk was well suited to subdue any attempts at escaping. The nurse was quite dim though, as she appeared to miss the true meaning behind those deflective words.

"Oh! Well, I guess that's true..." she gave an uncertain glance to Eraser, then looked up in exasperation. "Just give us a call if you need anything."

"Yes, of course," agreed the officer, already twisting away from her, before halting. He again scanned the room and than turned back to the nurse. "Wait please, do you know where the mother is?"

The nurse, which had a more fuller view of the room, seemed to not understand for a moment. Then, she let out a little squeak and poked her head through the door-frame, as if to check if what she was seeing was really there.

"She's right here..." the nurse said, blinking confusedly at the policeman, who, following her lead, also leaned inside to peek at the corner of the room that had been previously unseen to him.

"O! Sorry I didn't see her... Thank you, ma'am," he said, voice disbelieving.

The nurse reluctantly dismissed herself after that, taking with her her silent companion.

Apropos his mother, the women did not react to any of the ruckus currently happening just two paces away from her. She didn't acknowledge that they were talking about her, didn't tremble or tap her foot on the floor impatiently. She sat stone still, head in her hands bowed to almost sink between her parted knees. Her hair, about shoulder length, fell in black strands to completely cover her face. Even her breathing was minimal. As was her presence; so much so hat Obito nearly forgot she was there for a while.

_This isn't normal. This is more akin to shinobi than a civilian, but..._

Nowhere in his newly gained memories did he see her in such a state. If he was to describe her, in a professional way that is, he would say that she was a civilian through and through. Her gestures were hectic and natural, no hesitation seeded her step or made her jump into a fighting stance. She ate her food hungrily, not bothering to check for poison; she didn't look over her shoulder nor change her routine obsessively, so that any potential stalkers would keep away. Her joy was unguarded and rage rare. Never had he felt any killer intent from her.

Obito unconsciously tilted his head, eyes travelling to the women.

Something was wrong.

The officer, who just entered the room, also seemed to realise that. The minute furrow in his brow was up and gone, like a passing gust of wind, yet even without that the Uchiha could see how tensed he was while approaching her. Deciding that at this moment, a child would probably take interest too, he turned his gaze to the man.

"She's like that since we arrived," he mumbled, careful to chop his words a little. Tossing the phone to the side, he scrambled to the edge of the bed, trying to look like a curious boy who had too much energy in himself. "Are you going to wake her? I think she's sleeping! It's so boring here, I almost feel asleep too!"

"Oh, probably. Your mother must have been tired, after all that had happened today," he mused with the everlasting smile on his face, halting in his approach. "I bet it was very scary. To keep up such positive spirits you must be extremely brave, right?"

"Not scary! Not scary at all!" said ~~Tobi~~ Obito, shaking his head. "She cried tho, I wonder! It must have been the smell!" nodding, as if to himself (and almost breaking his neck at the abrupt change of motion), he increased the volume. "The villain smelled bad, very bad! I had to take a shower after the numbness left, it was so bad!"

"Oh? And you weren't worried?" he asked, an amused note in his tone.

"Well..." the ninja leaned back a little. "A tiny bit. Maybe."

"That's natural." the officer allowed. Obito then realised he still doesn't know the man's name, so he let his brows fall into a frown.

"... I still don't know who you are, mister. And who's he?" the shinobi pointed at the 'hero' behind him, squinting theatrically. "Ah! I think I know you! You were the hero who defeated that villain!" he let his expression brighten and voice pick up anew.

"Yes, that's Ereaser-head. And I am Detective Tsukauchi, from the Police station, Villain Department," the man gave Obito a nod with his words, and the Uchiha wanted to shout 'Ha! I knew it!' to someone. "We are here to collect your recollections of what happened earlier today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I said before that this will be slow paced? If not, I'm saying it now.


End file.
